


A Chance Encounter

by greygerbil



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2018-11-02
Packaged: 2019-08-16 18:46:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16500758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greygerbil/pseuds/greygerbil
Summary: Things seem to be going well for Yuuri in the season leading up to the GPF at Sochi when he meets Georgi, also assigned to Skate America, at a street by their hotel. Five minutes later, Yuuri is kneeling on the ground covered in blood not his own, unsure if Georgi will survive until the ambulance arrives and wondering if it should be him bleeding out instead. Yuuri has to fight hard to keep his head in the game after Georgi's brush with death, but the accident also provides him a chance for a new friendship.





	A Chance Encounter

**Author's Note:**

> For Spookyweek 2018, Day 7: Death

“Oh, sorry.”

Yuuri glanced up from his phone at the man who had just bumped into his shoulder and found himself looking at Georgi Popovich, one of his competitors in Skate America. He was carrying two bottles of water under his arm and smiled briefly at Yuuri. In the short program today, he had come in just a couple of points before Yuuri and about the same difference after Cao Bin.

“No problem,” Yuuri said.

Through the drizzle, Yuuri saw that the traffic light was still red. There weren’t any cars around, but he waited, anyway, because the street was dark and just around a bend and Yuuri knew as soon as his hotel room door closed he’d just start being in his own head and fretting about the free skate tomorrow, so he was in no hurry to get there. Georgi stood by his side.

“I liked your program,” he said, after a moment of silence. “You were very driven – very intense! I can feel that you have a clear goal in mind this season.”

Yuuri didn’t quite know what to say for a moment. He’d been complimented for his program today – even he thought he’d done well and he tended to be his own worst critic –, but not quite in this way. It was weirder because Georgi wasn’t wrong.

“Uhm, thank you. I’m really hoping for the GPF this time.”

With just the one quad he was still very much behind a lot of people, Georgi included, but he had always been able to tear himself up a few places with his Grade of Execution. He had a chance.

“I think you can do it. Which is not to say I’ll make it easy at the free skate tomorrow, though.”

Yuuri smiled a little. The traffic light turned green. He walked ahead and glanced over his shoulder to see Georgi stalling a moment to shift the weight of the water bottles he was carrying before he stepped on to the street as well.

Later, Yuuri couldn’t recall the exact details of what had happened after that. He’d heard a screech of tires on the street, the wild rustle of the rain-wet leaves that covered the tarmac, and through that his own name, garbled in the noise, all at once. A hand pressed into his back, the full weight of a human ramming against his spine, throwing him forward. It was gone as fast as it had a come. A dull thud sounded behind him. He laid in the wet mush of crushed leaves, with the rain coming down easy as dust. The growl of a motor grew quiet as a car sped into the distance.

Yuuri got to his knees and shook his head, looked around. A water bottle was leaning against his knee. The second one laid in the gutter by the sidewalk. Georgi was stretched out on the ground on his side, his back to Yuuri, motionless. Yuuri stared at him. It took a second to put it all together, understand what he was seeing.

With his heart hammering in his chest, Yuuri scrambled towards Georgi. His left foot was twisted to an unnatural angle and his jeans were growing dark and wet around the calf of his right leg. His head laid in a puddle of blood, washed pink by the rain as it gathered in little pools and rivulets on top of the colourful leaves. Georgi was looking straight ahead at his own scraped-up hand, and for a moment Yuuri was convinced he was dead. As he gripped his shoulder, though, Georgi’s eyes snapped up, unfocused, searching along Yuuri’s arm as if he didn’t quite know what it would be attached to.

“Georgi?” Yuuri asked, stifled.

Georgi didn’t say anything, just looked up at him.

Ambulance, Yuuri thought. They needed an ambulance. He found his phone in his jacket pocket. It was only thanks to his time watching medical dramas with Phichit in their Detroit home that he could even remember the American emergency number right now, burned somewhere in the back of his brain. An impassive, gentle woman’s voice sounded at the other end.

“Hello, please tell me where your emergency is.”

“I’m, um...” Frantically, Yuuri looked for a street sign, which he found in the dim light of a street lamp. “Maple Street behind the Holiday Inn. Chicago.”

“What happened?”

“Someone was hit by a car, I...”

Yuuri could feel a wave of fear threaten to overwhelm him, his hand on Georgi’s shoulder shaking. It felt like he was forgetting every English word he’d learned in his life one by one.

A hand wrapped around his wrist. It was covered in warm blood, leaving smears of red on Yuuri’s skin. Georgi looked up at him. He was trying to calm him down, Yuuri thought, with a hysterical smile. Well, at least it meant Georgi was still present.

“Sir? How bad are the injuries?”

Yuuri took a deep breath.

“He... there’s a lot of blood around his head... his legs don’t look good. He’s still moving a bit.”

“Please tell him to stay still if you can. It’s possible that his spine is damaged.”

“No – well – yes, of course. Of course I will.”

Georgi wasn’t making any attempts to move, though, aside from his hand still clinging to Yuuri’s arm.

“An ambulance is on the way,” the woman said. “Please stay by his side. Do you know him?”

“Sort of,” Yuuri said. Not as well as he should have, he thought, to be of any use comforting him. Not really well enough that there was a reason for Georgi to risk his life for him. That was what had happened, right? That hand in his back. Maybe it had been reflex as Georgi saw the car coming towards him. He’d probably hoped to be fast enough that neither of them would be hit. But he had been a good two steps behind Yuuri and if Yuuri had been in the way of the car before, Georgi must have jumped forward to save him.

“Please stay with him until the ambulance arrives.”

The call ended and Yuuri was left sitting in front of Georgi. He lowered his arm so that Georgi didn’t have to keep holding his hand up.

“An ambulance is coming,” he said.

“Yes,” Georgi said quietly. He looked pale and scared and younger like this, bloody and wet on the ground.

“You’ll... you’ll be fine.”

He’d survive, Yuuri thought. He was talking so he had to pull through, or at least that was what he was going to tell himself and Georgi. But he couldn’t keep himself from looking at his legs, bloody and twisted, and considering what that meant for a skater. When he raised his gaze, he saw Georgi looking down, too.

“Looks bad,” he said in a small voice.

“No, you’ll... don’t worry about it now,” Yuuri stammered. He wanted to tell him it wasn’t important, but that would be a lie, of course, so he just moved his arm to hold Georgi’s hand, unsure if Georgi got anything out of it, but Georgi wasn’t pulling away. He wanted to say he should concentrate on staying alive before he worried about his career, but stopped himself just in time, realising how much it might scare Georgi. He sat there and said nothing instead, feeling like a useless moron.

The ambulance came and somewhere in the flurry of voices and activity, Yuuri was pulled on board since Georgi wouldn’t let go of his hand and a paramedic said someone should ride with Georgi after talking in hushed voices about possible brain swelling with his colleagues, speculating whether Georgi would make it to the hospital alive. Yuuri tried hard to concentrate on just holding that blood-stained hand in his.

-

When they’d arrived, Yuuri was left sitting alone at the end of a row of plastic chairs bolted onto the white wall of an empty hallway. It was then he remembered that he should call someone. He’d been in this spot before when a friend in Detroit flubbed a quad jump, smashed into the rink border and broke his jaw, but there had been other people, then, and all the responsibility of keeping his head together hadn’t fallen on Yuuri. He should have asked Georgi for his phone, but it was probably in the jacket he was wearing and Yuuri didn’t want to burst into room where they’d wheeled him into now. He should have written down the number plate of the fleeing car. He should have had something better to say to Georgi when he laid bleeding in the street. He should have done a lot of things.

Finally, Yuuri realised that Phichit and Celestino were still in the same hotel as Georgi’s coach. He needed a moment to remember his own phone’s password before he managed to call Phichit. His fingers felt stiff with Georgi’s dry blood.

“Yuuri?” Phichit asked at the other end after only a couple rings. He always had his phone with him. “Where are you? I thought you wanted to be back for dinner?”

“I’m – at the hospital. University of Chicago hospital.”

“Hospital?!”

In the background, he heard their coach exclaim something in response to Phichit’s yelp.

“No, no, I’m fine. Listen, I met Georgi of the Russian team. He got hit by a car-”

He wanted to say that he got hit by a car saving Yuuri, he wanted to confess it to someone that he was responsible for it, but Phichit interrupted him.

“Damn, that’s terrible! Is he alright?”

“He hit his head and his legs – there was a lot of blood. But he was talking. You have to speak to his coach. We’re in the emergency ward.”

“Yeah, of course, I’ll go find him right now. Hang in there, Yuuri, okay?”

Yuuri kept himself from snapping that it wasn’t him who had to _hang in there_ , that he was the one who’d gotten lucky, but he knew Phichit just wanted to be nice.

“Sure,” he said, quietly.

-

By the time Yakov arrived, Yuuri had managed to wash his hands and face, but there was nothing to be done about his bloodstained clothes, ripped at the knees and elbows, which he noticed while staring at himself in the mirror. He’d tried to be quick in the bathroom, afraid he would miss a doctor coming out of Georgi’s room to tell him anything at all, but it was only Yakov who stood there when he returned, looking upset and lost.

“It’s this room,” Yuuri said, pointing at a closed door.

Yakov flinched and turned around, looked him up and down.

“You,” he said. “Are you alright?”

Yuuri nodded his head. “The car was going to hit me,” he said, finally, and as the words passed his lips he felt the sting of tears in his eyes. “But Georgi pushed me away.”

He shouldn’t be telling Yakov this, should he? He at least shouldn’t be crying. Yakov had someone to worry about already and in truth, it wasn’t like Yuuri wanted his pity. He just wanted someone to know that Georgi had been brave and that it should be Yuuri in there.

If Yakov was angry, he didn’t show it. He put a firm hand between Yuuri’s shoulder blades that reminded Yuuri uncomfortable of the pressure of Georgi’s hand in just that spot.

“That’s good. He managed to get you out of the way. Come, we’re going to see how he is,” he said.

After one knock he opened the door, not waiting long enough for someone to have the time to come and tell him to stay out.

A doctor and two nurses stood by Georgi’s bedside. There was a bandage around his head. His pants had been cut open and laid as bloody rags on a chair. He looked up at Yakov and Yuuri and forced an unsteady smile. It was clear he’d been crying.

“You brought Yakov,” he said, looking at Yuuri.

“I, I thought you might want to see him.”

The doctor turned around, a sunburnt man with a lined smile. “We’re about done here for now. Good timing! Georgi,” he pronounced the name more like ‘George’ in his Texan accent, “you know these gentlemen?”

“Yes. I mean – you can tell them what’s wrong.” Georgi’s voice was weak and exhausted. “That’s okay.”

The doctor nodded, looking over at Yakov.

“My name is Dr. Hallward.”

“Yakov Feltsman,” Yakov said.

Yuuri remained quiet.

“As far as hitting his head goes, Georgi was very lucky. He seems to have gotten away with a concussion and a laceration.” He glanced at Yuuri. “This is why it was all so bloody. His spine seems fine, too. However, he has two fractures on his right leg and his left ankle is broken, too. I’m guessing that last one will take surgery to fix, but you’ll probably want to consult about the other two with a doctor at home as well. We’ve just stabilised everything as much as we could for now.”

“I guess I’m sitting this season out,” Georgi said quietly. He looked ready to cry again. At this point, Yuuri didn’t even know anymore if he himself was crying or not. His face felt numb.

“Uh, I’ll... I’ll wait outside for a bit,” he muttered, ducking his head between his shoulders and hastily walking out the door.

-

About half an hour later, Yakov closed the door of Georgi’s room behind himself. Yuuri looked up from his knees.

“He’s doing fine, considering,” Yakov said, unasked, and Yuuri was grateful for it. “I’ll have to figure out how to get him back to St. Petersburg now.”

Wordlessly, Yuuri nodded his head.

“He asked if you’d come in again if you were still around.”

Automatically, Yuuri got to his feet, though he had no idea what Georgi would want to say to him.

Of course.”

For a long moment, Yakov regarded him and Yuuri resisted the urge to fidget. Then, he nodded his head and turned down the hallway.

“Thanks for taking care of him until I came,” Yakov said, before pushing through the glass door into the adjacent hallway.

Yuuri approached the door, which was only leaning close. He gave it a soft nudge and stepped inside. Georgi laid surrounded by a lot of white. His hair was all dishevelled around the bandage.

“You waited,” he said.

“Well, sure,” Yuuri mumbled and took a deep breath. He’d been thinking of little speeches while he sat there, but none of them seemed appropriate to the gravity of the situation. The worst he’d ever had to think of were public answers about his programs, or presentations in front of a college class. This was miles out of his league. “I think you saved my life. Thank you,” he settled, finally.

“I just saw the car racing around the corner... I didn’t really think about it,” Georgi admitted. “I’m happy you didn’t get hurt. You didn’t, right?”

“Just scraped up my hands,” Yuuri said, lifting them to show him as proof.

Georgi nodded his head and winced.

“Did they say anything about the fractures? Can you... skate again? I mean, anytime soon?” Ever?

“Not this season,” Georgi said, looking off to the window. “The broken ankle seems to be complicated, so I’ll have to see. And operations can always go wrong, but... if they don’t, I can probably start training for next season.”

Yuuri nodded his head. Even if things went as well as they could go, Georgi couldn’t expect to get back into shape so quickly after what Yuuri imagined would be at least two months off – though it would technically be in time for the second half of the season.

Georgi sighed. “This week is perfect.”

“What do you mean?”

Frowning, Georgi looked at the ceiling.

“My girlfriend broke up with me on Monday.”

“Oh... I’m sorry.”

“I do wish I could have made the free skate,” Georgi said wistfully. “I needed a way to spell out these emotions. Not skating will be torture.” He glanced at Yuuri. “You’re doing the free skate tomorrow, though, aren’t you? You should probably head back to the hotel and get some sleep.”

“Yeah, I...” Slowly, Yuuri shook his head. “Right now, I can’t imagine skating tomorrow. But I guess I will?”

After all, Georgi was not dead and Yuuri wasn’t injured and really, there was no reason to withdraw from the competition aside from the fact that his nerves were absolutely flayed.

“But you want to make the Grand Prix Finals this year!” Georgi said, emphatically.

“I know, but – I mean, what does skating matter, in the end? You almost died. Without you, I could have died.”

Right now whether or not he ever wore a Grand Prix gold medal or even got to meet Victor on the ice, which had been so important to Yuuri for so long, seemed completely inconsequential.

“Skating is art, and art is life,” Georgi said, as if it was self-evident. “You’re alive and so am I, so you should show the people your art.”

Yuuri knew he looked as unconvinced as he was. Georgi shifted a little.

“I want to watch you,” he said. “I liked watching you today.”

Yuuri ralised Georgi was cheering him up again, which still felt as wrong as it had when Georgi’s bloody fingers wrapped around his wrist. However, he sounded so honest, like he really looked forward to it.

“I’ll skate,” Yuuri said again and Georgi smiled.

-

Yuuri barely slept that night and when he stepped on the ice, it was with the iron smell of blood still in his nose. He heard Celestino say something encouraging without really taking note of the words, just the tone, put one skate before the other, slid to the middle of the ice and stared at a sea of faces.

He wanted to turn around and leave and he had ten seconds to figure out how to keep himself from doing just that.

When the music started, Yuuri just gave up. He wasn’t skating for an audience. He had no idea how he’d skate for this many people after last night because he still hadn’t really arrived back in reality yet. He was just skating for Georgi, who might be watching right now on his phone, or maybe there was even a TV in his room. Georgi was looking on, so he had to put on a decent show for him. He wanted to.

The four and a half minutes went by somehow. When he climbed out of the rink and took his skate guards from a smiling Celestino, the only thing he remembered was not falling, despite a few very unsteady edges. The score placed Yuuri in second place behind Cao Bin. It was where he remained until the last three people that came after him were through.

The ceremony went by in a blur or relief and happiness tinged still by lingering shock. Yuuri hugged Phichit, who had gotten fifth place, and fell down on a bench in the changing room holding his medal. His phone vibrated, messages from his family and friends in Hasetsu pouring in. He would have to call soon. However, there was one message from a number he didn’t know.

_That was a performance like nothing I’ve ever seen from you, Yuuri. - Georgi_

Yuuri exhaled slowly. He remembered exactly nothing of what he’d done, but he could imagine Georgi was right.

_Thank you. Who gave you my number?_

_Yakov got it from your rink-mate._ A short pause. _I hope you feel a bit better. You looked so forlorn on the ice._

_I’ll manage. How are you?_

While Georgi texted him details of what the doctor had said, Yuuri tapped the screen and saved his number.

-

Yuuri and Georgi kept texting as they each returned to their home towns. At first, Yuuri dreaded the messages a bit, as a lot of them were status reports from the doctors; he kept waiting for the one that would keep Georgi out of the rink for good. Georgi went to surgery for two of the fractures and took a photo of himself in a wheelchair a day later.

_I’ll have to use this until I can stand on at least one foot again, then I can switch to crutches._

_You almost gave me a heart attack_ Yuuri responded, still clutching his phone tightly. _I didn’t see the caption at first. I thought you would have to use it from now on._

It was not a permanent solution, after all, but Georgi still would have to get used to it for the next six weeks, probably longer, and at home he moved mostly by crawling on all fours, as he admitted to Yuuri one time they texted.

By the time Georgi went into surgery, there was already normal, every-day conversation threading into their messages now, and eventually the scale tipped in that direction. Yuuri was assigned to Internationaux de France next and Georgi cheered him on every step of the competition. Yuuri looked forward to his messages because Georgi always had something vaguely outlandish yet strangely poignant to say about his skates. He also just looked forward to talking to Georgi, he supposed. They skyped now sometimes. With the season going, there was always something to talk about for two figure skaters. Georgi also liked to tell him about the things he was catching up on while he was forcibly confined to his home: ballet recordings, operas, old skating videos from the sixties. He could speak for hours about these things and Yuuri enjoyed listening mainly because he was so enthusiastic that it always caught on.

One evening mid-November, the camera field came into view on Yuuri’s laptop to show Georgi with red-rimmed eyes and an unsteady gaze, having obviously cried even though he tried to look aloof. Yuuri felt awkward as they greeted each other and wondered if he should pretend not to notice, since that was what Georgi seemed to want. However, when Yuuri asked if he was okay, Georgi needed little prodding to spill.

“I feel like a caged animal,” Georgi said and sighed. “I know it can’t get better from one day to the next, but it seems like I’ve been stalling in physiotherapy for a week now and – I just want to skate again. Or dance. Or walk, at this point.”

Yuuri nodded his head, feeling a familiar coil of guilt that he knew on some level was unreasonable. He was still looking for something to say when his phone buzzed. Georgi had heard it, too.

“Am I keeping you from someone?” he asked.

“No, that was, er, a notification for this game I’m playing.”

Georgi sniffled.

“What kind of game?”

“It’s just this... gardening game. Not just gardening. You kind of have a farm. You can plant all sorts of stuff and have animals and everything.” Yuuri felt a bit stupid talking about it just after Georgi had poured his heart out about his frustrations with his crippling injury. “I, uhm, need to milk my cows, but it’s not that important.”

“What’s it called?”

“Harvest Story. It’s a bit of a clone of other farm games that I used to play as a kid.”

Georgi leaned his head to the side.

“You like video games?”

“Yes,” Yuuri said with a nod. “Do you?”

“Not really. I haven’t tried many before. I played... I think it was King Kong on my cousin’s console back in the day. I liked it but I never got past the first few levels.”

“Donkey Kong?” Yuuri asked, the corner of his mouth twitching.

“Oh yes, I think that’s what it was called.” Georgi grabbed his phone. “But I have a lot time right now, so maybe I can have a farm, too.”

-

Yuuri asked Georgi to text him his Harvest Story handle when Georgi proudly told him over text that he had managed to set up an account. The next time Yuuri saw Odile26 online, he made his own avatar get on the old-fashioned little steam train that was the loading screen you saw when visiting other people’s farms. The avatars in the game were all cutesy, chubby creatures and Yuuri briefly considered changing his to something less telling about himself, but then decided it didn’t really matter. He liked the look of it, anyway. He had tried to make it a little like himself with its glasses, black hair and plain blue shirt with a big Y on the front. Obviously he’d chosen the anthropomorphic dog build, which also bestowed a dog-eared hat on his avatar. The starter pet he’d picked, a little beagle, was in pursuit as he arrived at Georgi’s place.

He found Georgi’s farm much in the same dilapidated state in which it would always be first presented to the player. The wooden farm house was still overgrown with ivy and there were dandelions and thistles all over the place. Georgi’s avatar, the human male build dressed up in a pointy wizard’s hat and long dark robes, was busy watering the weeds. A little black pixel cat roamed the farm.

_Hello_ Yuuri typed in the chat window. _It’s me, Yuuri._

Georgi’s avatar stopped.

_I didn’t know you could come over here. I like your little guy._

_Thanks. Have you tried to start playing yet?_

There was a short break of the avatars just looking at each other.

_I’m playing._

_You’re actually supposed to pull the weeds and make room for fields to plant things on. Vegetables and trees._

_Do I have to? I like the flowers._

Yuuri was briefly stumped by this. It wasn’t really necessary, no. The game wouldn’t ever boot you from the farm or anything and the starting point was as run-down as it would get. Still...

_No, but you won’t have money to repair the house and build new things if you don’t sell produce._

_That’s fine, I think the house looks good as it is. It’s a very romantic aesthetic._

Yuuri started typing something to convince Georgi that the game really might be more fun if he did literally anything that was intended, but stopped himself. If Georgi liked this, maybe it was okay to just let him do his thing. If he got bored, Yuuri could still teach him how to play the game properly.

On his birthday, Yuuri found a big pile of dandelions in front of his house, with an in-game notification telling him Odile26 had left them here. Even though they were weeds, he stashed them in the box in his avatar’s bedroom, which would keep them fresh forever.

-

Georgi eventually figured out how to use the train, so it was no uncommon sight for Yuuri now to have Georgi’s avatar stand on his farm looking at the blooming fruit trees while Yuuri’s dog chased his cat around the yard. They still texted and talked as the GPF in Sochi drew nearer. Georgi said he wanted to be there.

“If I can,” he amended as they spoke over Skype. “I messed up my foot a bit during physiotherapy this Monday. I pushed too hard.” His shoulders sank with an exhale. “It’s taking so long.”

Yuuri, sitting with his salad dinner before the computer and spearing a tomato to mush instead of eating, finally saw the chance he’d always missed so far.

“I’m sorry.”

“Sorry about what?” Georgi asked, plucking at a loose thread on his sleeve.

“That you got hurt. I mean, the car was coming for me. Maybe if I’d paid more attention...”

“It wasn’t your fault.” Georgi stopped himself, displeasure crossing his face. “Are you talking with me because that’s what you think? Because you feel obligated?”

“No,” Yuuri said, quickly. It had started out a bit like that, to be true. But that wasn’t it now. He liked Georgi. He wasn’t one to collect a ton of close friends wherever he went and he’d really enjoyed his company, even for how odd he could be. Every time he saw one of his messages now, he had to smile, which was a reaction he really tried not to think about too deeply, to be honest.

“Because I enjoy talking to you. I always look forward to it. You’ve been such a good friend to me.”

The way Georgi just put his feelings out there was intimidating to Yuuri sometimes. Not that he didn’t like hearing it, he just wasn’t used to the directness and felt awkward he couldn’t pay him back in kind. What could he do to show him he meant it, too?

“When we arrive in Sochi,” Yuuri burst out. “Let’s meet up!” He stopped himself. “I mean... unless you want to spend time with your team.”

After all, three other students of Yakov’s would be there – among them Victor. What a strange realisation it was that it was not meeting Victor that he looked forward to most anymore, Yuuri thought.

“I can meet my team at the rink every day,” Georgi said, brightening. “Well, not so much right now. But they are here and you usually aren’t. I want to do something with you.”

-

Yuuri trained harder than ever the week before the GPF, but the anxiety that was trying to knot his stomach never fully settled it. It was stupid, he realised, but knowing that before the skate he would meet up with Georgi gave him that little bit of a light at the end – or was that the beginning? – of the tunnel to stay on track. They were even at the same hotel again, so maybe they could meet after the skates, too. Since there weren’t any other of his friends but Chris at the GPF, and Chris had a tendency to hang around Victor when he got the chance, it would be nice not to feel alone.

The day before the short program, Yuuri found Georgi in the entrance hall of the hotel in Sochi where they had arranged to meet. Coming from the elevators, he saw him sitting in his wheelchair before Victor, who was lounging on a couch, and Yuri Plisetsky, a junior who had gotten himself the nickname of Russian punk and was perching on the armrest of the sofa with his feet up on the cushions. Yuuri felt his mouth go dry. However, he wanted to talk to Georgi and if he had to get past the two of them, well, it had to happen. He waited for a pause in the flow of Russian words to interject: “Excuse me...”

They all looked up at him.

“Ah, Yuuri!” Georgi said. “Yuri, I don’t think you’ve met Yuuri Katsuki yet. You must have skated against him before, Vitya.”

“I think so, yes,” Victor said, smiling pleasantly. Yuuri felt his nerves flutter realising Victor honestly seemed to recognise him, but his heart only skipped when he saw the smile Georgi was giving him.

“You’re the one who got into the car accident with Gosha at the Skate America, aren’t you?” Victor asked.

“Yes, I... I’m very grateful to him,” Yuuri said quickly.

“The other Yuri,” Yuri Plisetsky muttered, looking Yuuri up and down as if he had personally insulted him somehow. “What are you doing here?”

“I... well, I actually came to pick up Georgi.”

“We’re going to look around the city,” Georgi explained, turning his wheelchair to Yuuri with a practiced movement of his hands.

Victor looked between the two of them and then let out a short laugh. “Gosha, you didn’t tell me you had a date!”

Yuuri could feel the blood rushing into his head, but out of the corner of his eyes, he saw that Georgi didn’t take the joke in stride, either. His cheeks were a little pink and there was something hasty about the way he looked between Victor and Yuri. Yuuri tried to put it out of his mind as quickly as he’d seen it before he started reading into it.

“It’s not a date,” Georgi muttered.

“But it would be kind of cute after what happened to you two,” Victor said, leaning his index finger against his lower lip the way Yuuri had seen him do countless times on the television.

“What the hell, old man. Getting hit by a car is cute?” Yuri asked, doubtfully.

“Gosha said Yuuri rode in the ambulance with him...”

Desperate to escape both their attention, Yuuri grabbed the handles of Georgi’s wheelchair. “Well, we, uh, really should get going! It was nice talking to you!”

He bowed once and then pushed Georgi out of the lobby as fast as his feet would carry him. Outside, he took a deep breath.

“I can move it by myself, you know?” Georgi said.

Yuuri stared down at him. Only belatedly, it occurred to him how rude it was to just push Georgi around. He’d simply wanted to get away as fast as possible, but now he let go off the wheelchair like it burned him.

“Yes, of course! Sorry...”

Georgi chuckled.

“It’s fine. My arms were tired after all the travelling today, anyway.”

“Ah... I can push you, then,” Yuuri offered.

“Is that okay? You have to skate, you shouldn’t risk getting sore.”

“It’s fine.”

He worked out in the gym for off-ice conditioning fairly regularly, so he doubted he would risk a lot of soreness just from pushing a wheelchair, which moved rather smoothly across the pavement, anyway. Thankfully, it wasn’t snowing yet.

“Did you have anywhere in mind you wanted to go?” Georgi asked.

“Well, I’ve never been to Sochi, so anywhere is good. I thought maybe we could have dinner later.”

Georgi nodded, looking ahead. Already the sky was turning dark above even though it was barely four in the afternoon.

“There is supposed to be a really beautiful Christmas market around Gorki Gorod Mall not far from here.”

“Where do we have to go?”

Georgi picked out the map app on his phone. As they spoke about the skate tomorrow and their journeys here, it occurred to Yuuri that this was the first time he had seen Georgi in person since that night in the hospital. Though he wished Georgi had already been walking again, he looked good. His form-fitting black coat really suited him well and Yuuri enjoyed the smile Georgi gave him over his shoulder from time to time. He really liked the colour of his eyes and even that strict hairdo which made the edges of sharp cheekbones, chin and nose stand out more. It was a good thing Georgi had a tendency to go on if you let him because Yuuri was perfectly happy just watching and listening.

God, did Georgi even like men? It was probably not worth thinking about, anyway.

The Christmas market was crowded and loud. Russian and English Christmas songs played over each other from too many sources. There were lights lining the street, blinking from the top of the wooden booths and huts. It smelled like burning sugar and alcohol. Cheap jewellery was laid out next to woollen hats, candles and wooden figurines.

“It was Halloween when we first met,” Georgi said, thoughtfully. “Now it’s already getting time for Christmas.”

Yuuri thought about it. “I never noticed that.”

“The night was definitely horrifying,” Georgi said.

“You can say that again...”

“But I’m happy that it allowed me to meet you, at least.”

Yuuri smiled briefly. “That’s kinda macabre, but I, uh, I’ve thought the same before.”

Georgi pointed at a stand selling mulled wine, from the smell of it, though Yuuri couldn’t read what it said overhead. “Do you want some?”

“No, I don’t drink before competitions. But you can.”

Yuuri wheeled Georgi close so he could talk to the man in the booth. He paid him and took two white plastic cups in exchange, handing one to Yuuri.

“Here – that’s the kind they have for children,” he said, laughing. “No alcohol, I promise.”

“Thanks.”

They moved slowly as they drank. Yuuri could feel the heat of the cup even through his gloves. He stopped them again as he saw a group of nesting dolls in a big stand topped with wooden snowflakes.

“I’ve always liked these,” he said.

“Matryoshkas,” Georgi answered. “I used to love them as a child. It was so exciting to see what was inside.”

The dolls all stood in long rows with their smaller counterparts. Most were women in floral dresses, some politicians in suits. He left Georgi standing for a moment to follow an especially long line of dolls, probably twenty of them, and then marvelled at the biggest matryoshka, which was as long as his forearm. When he turned back to Georgi, he found that he was holding a white paper bag and putting his wallet back into his coat.

“What did you get?” he asked.

“A real-world birthday present. I still owed you one.”

Georgi held the paper bag to him.

“You didn’t have to...”

But Yuuri was curious, anyway. He reached inside and found, unsurprisingly, a nesting doll. This one was brighter than most, her painted dress all made out of dandelions – just like the ones that Georgi had piled up on Yuuri’s virtual doorstep. Yuuri had to laugh and Georgi looked satisfied.

“Thank you,” Yuuri said, again.

-

They had dinner at a small food stand serving blini with jam, the most exotic thing Yuuri dared to try the night before a skate, and circled the rest of the market before they made their way back to the hotel. As Yuuri and Georgi stood in the elevator, Yuuri took his phone from his pocket, surprised to see a bunch of messages from Mari. She was more the kind to congratulate after the show.

The GPF wasn’t what she was writing about. Yuuri stared at the screen.

“What is it?” Georgi asked, watching him. “Bad news?”

Apparently, you could read it on his face.

“Yes. No. I mean...”

It wasn’t really all that important in the grand scheme of things. It wasn’t like a family tragedy had happened or anything. Especially with Georgi in the wheelchair with two broken legs, Yuuri felt kind of weird realising he was about to cry.

Georgi took Yuuri’s hand, the fabric of their gloves whispering together.

“Let’s get off the elevator,” he said wheeling himself forward with one hand as he pulled Yuuri ahead with the other. The doors had opened. Yuuri had missed it, staring at his phone. He cleared his throat but didn’t know what to say.

Georgi tugged him along the hallway and opened one of the identical doors with a key card, motioning for Yuuri to come inside.

“What happened?” he asked, again.

“It’s just, my dog died,” Yuuri said quietly. “My sister texted me.”

It made him feel infinitely better that Georgi looked truly shocked, raising a hand to his mouth.

“Oh, Yuuri, I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine, I... well, I haven’t really seen him much in last years, anyway, so I guess it’s not even really my right to be too sad,” Yuuri said, blinking through a veil of tears. That just made him feel even worse. He hadn’t been there for Vicchan, always telling himself he’d be able to do it later, and now there was no later. “But I had him since I was twelve.”

“If he was your childhood pet, of course you’d be sad,” Georgi said.

Yuuri sat down on a chair that stood by a rickety table and tried to will the tears away. He heard the wheels of Georgi’s chair shifting a little until he stood almost parallel with Yuuri and then Georgi leaned forward and gave him a hug. Yuuri pulled him closer. The winter cold was still on Georgi’s face and the fabric of his jacket, but as they sat there with Yuuri crying into his shawl, their body warmth spread, shared between them where their skin touched. Georgi didn’t say anything, maybe didn’t know what to say, and that was better. Yuuri didn’t need anyone to tell him it was fine he hadn’t been there for Vicchan because it wasn’t, or give him some platitudes about how that was just part of life. But he liked Georgi’s warmth.

“You really have bad luck this season,” Georgi said after a while. “These things always happen to you just before you have to go on the ice.”

Yuuri nodded his head into Georgi’s shoulder. He did have to skate tomorrow and the day after that, didn’t he? Finally in a real competition with Victor and in discussions as a realistic contender for a medal. And he’d be thinking about Vicchan the whole time.

But as horrible as Vicchan dying was, it wasn’t really as bad as spending the night before the free skate covered in someone else’s blood in an emergency room and he had skated after that, skated well enough to get to this point in the first place.

How had he done that?

Yuuri pulled back and grabbed Georgi’s shoulders. Georgi stared at him in surprise.

“You’re going to watch me tomorrow, aren’t you?”

“Yes, of course,” Georgi answered.

Yuuri gave a silent nod. That was all he needed to know.

-

Georgi was there for both his skates, watching him from the very front row both times. During programs where Yuuri had expected to be losing his mind with nerves thinking about Victor and getting further scrambled by the news about Vicchan, he was watching Georgi beaming whenever he caught a glance of the audience, and that was all what mattered in that moment. He had asked Celestino to bring the little dandelion matryoshka to the kiss-and-cry for good luck and Yuuri held it as the scores were announced.

The skates didn’t go perfectly. He fell once in the short program, underrotated a quad in the free skate. Chris and Victor with their three quads each were still miles ahead of him, building programs Yuuri couldn’t even hope to practice for.

But in the end, it was only these two who were ahead of him and no one else. Yuuri was still dazed as he climbed onto the podium with them. Chris winked. Victor grinned. They all held their medals into the flashing lights of the cameras.

There was a whole day of skating packed after the short program and in the end, he had only had a chance to speak with Georgi on the phone, lying in bed as Georgi effusively told him about how beautiful his short program had been. When he got off the ice after the free skate and following ceremony, though, Georgi was standing backstage with the coaches next to Yakov, holding a bouquet of flowers.

“Hey, Georgi! Good to see you. Who are these for?” Chris asked.

“You two get enough,” Georgi said, looking between him and Victor. “They’re for Yuuri.”

Victor whistled and Chris raised a brow at Yuuri, who, however, only had eyes for Georgi once more. He leaned down to take the flowers and Georgi placed a quick kiss on his cheek, which left Yuuri reeling.

“You did so well!”

“Thanks,” Yuuri mumbled, grinning awkwardly. He still couldn’t quite believe it, though the medal was dangling before his chest. “I had your good luck charm. The matryoshka.”

Georgi looked pleased. “Yes, I saw.”

“What’s going on here?” Chris asked.

“These two are not dating,” Victor said. “As you can see.”

Chris snorted. “And this is the first I hear about it? Yuuri, I expected more gossip from you. I thought we were friends.”

“It’s not...” Yuuri looked down at the flowers and Georgi, who was blushing again, sending Victor a stern look. Everything had gone more or less alright this day, hadn’t it? Maybe he could push his luck a little further. For the first time, he realised, he was the one reaching out for Georgi’s hand and holding it tight. “But – would you like to come to the banquet with me, Georgi?”

He ignored Chris whistling and Victor’s quiet exclamation of “wow” by his side. Georgi stared at him, wide-eyed but smiling.

“I’d be honoured.”

What a season it had been, Yuuri thought, as he leaned down to hug Georgi again. And it had only just begun.


End file.
